


breathe in 'cause it feels cold where my lips were

by caelestys



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bath Sex, Cuddly boys, M/M, Snowboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelestys/pseuds/caelestys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh didn’t know Chuck could snowboard. He didn’t even know there was snow in Australia, and he'd said as much when they were watching the Channel 7 news while they (mostly Chuck) were making dinner and it reported an early bumper season and unexpected snowfall.</p><p>“Of course there’s snow in Australia, you nut,” Chuck had said. He gave Raleigh a look that was part incredulous, part you’re-a-dumbass, mostly insulted, over the onions he was chopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe in 'cause it feels cold where my lips were

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this [really dumb brain fart thing](http://caelestys.tumblr.com/post/94495213828/ugh-now-i-want-to-write-snowboarding-fic-because-i) about snowboarding boyfriends, and then [ohhaiguise](http://ohhaiguise.tumblr.com/), [rahleighs](http://rahleighs.tumblr.com/) and [happyhalfling](http://happyhalfling.tumblr.com/) basically goaded me into writing it. So uhhhh this is for you guys :D

Chuck's wearing fluorescent green pants. Raleigh would be more surprised about his complete willingness to deck himself out in painfully bright colours right out of a pack of highlighters, if he wasn't slightly relieved, because this means there's no way he's going to lose him amongst all the fresh powder and screaming kids.

And there are a lot of screaming kids.

 

+

 

Raleigh didn't know Chuck could snowboard. He didn't even know there was snow in Australia, and he'd said as much when they were watching the Channel 7 news while they (mostly Chuck) were making dinner and it reported an early bumper season and unexpected snowfall.

"Of course there's snow in Australia, you nut," Chuck had said. He gave Raleigh a look that was part incredulous, part you're-a-dumbass, mostly insulted, over the onions he was chopping.

"I thought you guys were all, Christmas on the beach and sunburning in the desert and hitting kangaroos with your cars," Raleigh replied, half teasing, but he'd been genuinely curious. He put his chin in his hands and blinked innocently at Chuck.

Chuck chopped the onions more viciously. Raleigh should have probably picked a better time to rib him than when he was brandishing a sharp kitchen weapon in his hands, but then again, he'd never had the best sense of self-preservation.

"It's winter," Chuck said, slowly, like Raleigh was stupid. He probably was. Case in point: sharp knife.

"Well, how come I haven't seen any snow?"

"Because it's in the mountains?"

"So have you seen snow before, then?"

Chuck had made a "pfftbt" noise and scrunched his nose.

Raleigh thought that meant an affirmative. It probably also meant Chuck thought he was a complete dumbass, but that wasn't any different to usual.

 

+

 

Which is how he finds himself at the top of of Squatter's Run on a perfectly cloudless, blue-sky morning, gripping onto Chuck's gloved hands and wobbling backwards down a green run on a rented snowboard. Chuck won't let him ski, because he says skiers are an embarrassment to mankind and he won't be caught dead around Raleigh if he elects to glide around like a fairy with sticks attached to his boots.

Obviously he's an asshole and the devil's spawn and the reason why Raleigh's ass is aching - not in a good way, and Raleigh hates him.

"You're Alaskan, you're supposed to know how to do this," Chuck says.

"Shut up," Raleigh says, concentrating. He pitches forward and overcorrects himself, wobbling, and Chuck's hands tighten on his.

"I mean, don't you live in igloos and shit and sled home from school and have huskies pull you around everywhere?"

"I hate you. And that's a horrible stereotype."

Chuck laughs. "Yeah, yeah, says the wanker who thought that all we do in Australia is ride around on our kangaroos and lie on the beach and run screaming from spiders."

Raleigh looks down at his feet, praying he doesn't fall over.

"Stop looking at your feet unless you want a face full of snow," Chuck says, and Raleigh looks up at him instead. "You're bending your knees too much. You want to control it with more with your heels, and kind of your toes."

Raleigh does what Chuck says, leaning into him. It's a little easier, but his knees are still killing him. Chuck, surprisingly, isn't a bad teacher, if you ignore the swearing and insulting and yelling at people who get in his way. "I skied. A couple of times," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Mom and Dad took us a few times when we were kids. Yance was always better than me, though."

Chuck makes a face. "Snowboarding is so much cooler than skiing."

"Skiing is so much easier than this shit," Raleigh moans. "You're literally stuck to a board. You can't even try to save yourself if you fall over. You just kind of have to accept the inevitability of pain and broken bones."

"Don't be such a drama queen," Chuck says. "Anyway, that's why snowboarding is awesome. Because unlike skiing, it actually requires some level of skill." Chuck's grinning at him, trying to press his buttons. Raleigh would kiss him if he didn't want to kill him for being a punk who won't stop making fun of him for his lack of coordination.

"I want a hot bath," he complains petulantly, "And I need to strap pillows to my ass tomorrow."

They've only made it a hundred feet down the slope. Raleigh would be embarrassed about his incompetence, but Chuck is teasing him and his nose is pink, and he doesn't really mind making an idiot of himself if Chuck keeps smiling like that. His freckles are darkening from the sun glare. He's pushed his ski goggles up over the hem of his beanie, and Raleigh's kind of glad for it, because Chuck's grinning face kind of makes the aching in his legs a little bit more worth it.

"How did you learn?"

"Mum skied, so she used to take me all the time when I was a kid. But I always felt like an idiot little kid on skis, so I started boarding instead."

"Have you been since?"

"Not since K-Day. But it's kinda hard to forget," Chuck says, shrugging.

A straggling line of pint-sized old kids zigzags slowly around them, tiny skis splayed out in backwards Vs, following after their blue-coated ski instructor like little ducklings. They stare wide-eyed at Raleigh and Chuck as they go. The instructor gives them a wide grin and a double thumbs up. Raleigh stops abruptly, powder building up under the edge of his board enough that he tips forward, shoves Chuck ass-first into the snow, and collapses on top of him.

The last kid giggles as he skis away.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, tiny human," Chuck yells, but his arms are loose around Raleigh's waist and he's smiling.

 

+

 

Chuck's brought a GoPro on a selfie-stick, and Raleigh laughs at him for being a vain teenage girl when he's not busy shoving the lens out of his face as he's falling over. They take an inordinate amount of stupid selfies on the chairlift, boots dangling, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

They take photos of Raleigh trying to swallow the tiny camera whole and Chuck licking a disgusting, slobbery stripe up the side of Raleigh's face. Raleigh bites his nose in retaliation. They're being obnoxiously, uncomfortably cute, but way up here, just the two of them in the chairlift, no one's really looking at them enough to pay them any attention, and Raleigh finds he doesn't really mind.

It's on the bearable side of cold, and he can feel the light breeze tickling his face. They swing their free legs back and forth like kids.

Chuck's eyelashes are frozen, leaving them wet against his cheeks, and his mouth shivers under the scarf he tucks around his chin. Raleigh pulls it down to his neck and tries to kiss him. He misses and has to stop awkwardly when their bulky snow goggles knock into each other, and Chuck laughs and thumbs at his cheek in amusement.

"Smooth," he murmurs, and tilts his head further to the side, fitting their mouths together. His mouth is chilly but soft, and Raleigh chases the cold away with his tongue.

"Ew," a voice says, and when they look down, there's a tiny kid standing nearly underneath them, looking up.

Chuck pulls away, leans over the handrail of their chairlift and sticks his tongue out. The kid sticks his tongue out back at him and makes a face, giggling.

Chuck kicks the leftover snow off his board and directly onto the kid's head.

"HEY!" The kid yells, and Chuck turns in his seat to wave obnoxiously at him as the chairlift drifts past.

"Rude," he says, turning back to Raleigh and grinning.

"If we start getting pelted with snowballs, it's all your fault," Raleigh says.

Chuck makes a ‘who, me?' face and pulls him back in by the zipper of his jacket. "Now, where were we?"

Raleigh goes willingly.

He'd come up to the snow every time they had a day off, as many times as he can afford, and he'd fall as many times on his ass as he could manage if he could keep hearing Chuck laugh like that. He relaxes into the arm Chuck stretches around him.

 

+

 

By lunch time, Raleigh's mostly mastered the art of not falling over, and Chuck rewards him with sustenance at the Mountain House. They stomp in, shaking the snow off, and hang their jackets up over the heater, along with Raleigh's wet scarf and gloves - he's gotten enough snow down the neck of his jacket that he thinks he's going to be permanently cold - and Raleigh appropriates a corner table while Chuck orders.

Chuck's hair is sticking up in a million different directions from where he's pulled his beanie off and messed it up, and Raleigh ruffles it and kisses the top of his head on his way to the toilet. Chuck grumbles and shoves him lightly, muttering for him to get off, but Raleigh can see his blush and tiny smile in his reflection in the window.

The chicken parma isn't the best he's had, but the solid workout from the morning has left him starving. He fends Chuck away from his fries and covers them in mustard when Chuck doesn't give up. Chuck gives him a disgusted look and refuses to share his pepperoni pizza, but relents when Raleigh puppy-eyes him into submission.

Chuck burps up the pint of beer he ordered in Raleigh's face, just to be a little shit. They order hot chocolates, just this side of too sweet, and wrap their fingers around them, feet tangled under the table.

"For someone who's singlehandedly operated a 260 foot tall jaeger, you sure as shit suck at coordination."

Raleigh waves his empty cup half-heartedly at Chuck. "Sure, mock my pain, you're hilarious."

"I'm just sayin'. Today you learned how to go forward and kiiiiiiiiinda sideways," Chuck says, cheekily, leaning closer.

Raleigh makes a face. "Don't you sass me, Chuckles."

"If you're good, I'll make it better for you when we get home," Chuck says, all cheek and bravado. He's got a bit of melted chocolate powder on the corner of his mouth.

Raleigh is reluctantly charmed.

He slides closer on the bench. "I'm always good," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"But if you keep making that face, then you're sleeping on the couch," Chuck says, pushing him away with a hand on his face. Raleigh licks his palm, and Chuck wipes it on his cheek.

Should've seen that one coming.

 

+

 

After lunch, Chuck goes off at his own pace, leaving Raleigh to make his way steadily down the slopes. Raleigh can see him in the distance, sort of, a blur of highlighter green pants and spitting loose powder. The instructors keep yelling at him for coming too close to mowing down their kids. Raleigh knows he's doing it on purpose, showing off by skidding to a stop and pelting them all with snow. He competes with the older ones, and they laugh and try to catch him. He makes faces at all of them as he passes by. He flies past Raleigh with his fists pumping the air and yelling battle cries, leaping over moguls.

When he wipes out, he wipes out hard, skidding ass-first through the snow and tumbling over himself, and Raleigh worries for a split second until his head pops up, covered in powder, beanie dangling half-off, looking completely dazed and laughing at himself.

The kids laugh, and he blushes, but just says, "Yeah, shut up, sproglets," and lets them pull him back upright again.

To look at the way Chuck fights, scrappy, with quick, sharp jabs and wide-swinging punches, like a bruised up, battered boxer, Raleigh never thought he'd have this much grace on a board. It suits him, in an odd way. He's relaxed and carefree in a way Raleigh has never seen him be before.

It makes something twinge low and deep in his gut.

He gets stuck on a plateau, where the ground is more ice and tufts of dead grass than snow, and he can feel the bumps roll underneath his board. His body is still trying to figure out whether to keep going or to fall over, and he's debating unstrapping a foot, when Chuck comes along and pushes at him, rocking his weight back and forth on the board so they inch forward slowly.

Raleigh doesn't trust himself to imitate him, but he lets Chuck drag him along.

"God, you're fucking heavy," Chuck pants when they reach the top of the next slope, and Raleigh socks him in the shoulder.

"You just fed me a huge lunch," he says, and Chuck carves around in front of him until they're standing face to face. 

"If you let me eat all your chips and drink all your beer, this wouldn't have happened."

"They're my fries and you can't have them!"

"Sharing is caring, Rals." He grins and kisses Raleigh, nibbling at his bottom lip. Raleigh goes a little weak-kneed.

And then Chuck trips him onto his ass. He throws himself down the slope, yelling gleefully, "Try to keep up, old man!"

"I'm going to kick your fucking ass," Raleigh yells back, and then has to promptly apologize when a mother on skis glares at him, scandalized. Chuck flips him off, laughing, as he disappears over the top of the slope.

 

+

 

Raleigh's ass hurts. His wrists hurt, his knees hurt, his shins and calves and thighs hurt. Even his face hurts. He didn't think anyone could literally face-plant, but he's done it multiple times today, mostly to the sound of Chuck's laughter. He is never snowboarding again, not ever. He's just going to stick to skiing from now on. At least he's fairly sure that he won't want to curl up into a ball and die.

It hurts to even think about curling into a ball right now. He doesn't think he'll be able to walk for the next three days..

He unceremoniously dumps his board and jacket on Chuck to put in the mud room, and stumbles into their chalet. He can barely get himself up the steps to their front door, and only half undoes his laces and boots before he gives up and drags himself over to the futon. He flops face down, limbs sprawling, groaning. He's got his face half-smashed into a couch cushion when Chuck stomps in, kicking off his boots.

"I hate you," he moans. He can hear the slide of Chuck's ski pants as he wriggles out of them. He can't even lift his head to watch.

"Nah, you don't," Chuck says.

"I do. I really, really do." He turns his face into the cushion and makes a whimpering noise.

"Sure, Rals," Chuck says, ruffling his hair. He lets Chuck manhandle him, pulling his boots off one by one, then his ski pants, until he's down to his thermals and socks. He doesn't even care that he looks like an idiot in long-johns. He just wants to sleep.

He doesn't realize he's dropped off into a doze until Chuck comes back in a singlet and his boxers. Raleigh is annoyed to see that Chuck is very much not bruised anywhere. Life is not fair.

"Come on, buddy," Chuck says, shaking him awake.

"Fuck you want," Raleigh moans into the pillow.

"For you to not hate me in the morning," Chuck says, kneeling down and grinning at him.

"Leave me here to die," Raleigh says.

Chuck lets him lie there for another five seconds before he starts poking him. Raleigh finally gives in and hoists himself up, and lets Chuck lead him to the bathroom.

He's filled the giant tub with steaming hot water. Raleigh goes boneless just looking at it.

"Can't promise you won't feel like you've gone one on one with a kaiju in the morning, but it'll make it a little better, maybe?" 

"You might not be the worst after all," Raleigh concedes, letting Chuck tug his t-shirt off. Raleigh turns and wraps his arms loosely around his waist and kisses him. "Thanks," he says, and Chuck slips his hands into Raleigh's boxers and gives his ass a firm squeeze, because God forbid Chuck just shut up and take his thank you like a pro.

"C'mon. In."

They arrange themselves in the tub, Raleigh's back to Chuck's wide chest, sitting scooted up between his spread knees. The hot water makes his muscles feel like singing, and he lets out a groan when he sinks full-bodied into it. Chuck kisses the side of his neck and murmurs, "Let me," lazily lathering his chest up with soap, rubbing the ache out of his sore thighs, running his open palms down Raleigh's belly in long strokes.

Raleigh can't physically muster up the energy to do much else but lie there, hardening slowly under Chuck's touch. It's an awkward angle, but he lies there, head tipped back against the curve of Chuck's shoulder, lost in the sensation of Chuck exploring him, pushing his knees apart, stroking him slowly under the water.

He feels open and exposed and comfortable, just like this, Chuck's breath soft and even in his ear. His orgasm, when it comes, is hazy, foggy, accompanied with a soft whimper, Chuck biting teasingly at the curve of his shoulder.

Chuck was right. He really does feel a lot better.

 

+

 

He takes a nap on the pull-out while Chuck goes down to Foodworks to get stuff for dinner. When he wakes up, something with lots of explosions is playing quietly on TV, and Raleigh snuggles down into the blanket, blinking sleepily. The fireplace is crackling and he has a fuzzy blanket thrown over him. The room smells cheesy and delicious, and there are two wine glasses and an uncorked bottle of Vasse Felix on the coffee table. Chuck's setting down a giant tray of nachos on the coffee table.

Chuck makes the best nachos - cheesy with a fuck load of sour cream and homemade guacamole. Although every muscle in Raleigh's body complains dully, he props himself half up on the pillows when Chuck sits down next to him, and pours himself a glass of wine. He intercepts a chip on the way to Chuck's mouth and grins at Chuck's offended look.

"You're a wanker," Chuck says, cross.

Raleigh grins at him. "Needs more cheese," he says thoughtfully.

"Get your own damn chip, wanker," Chuck grumbles, loading up another one.

"But everything hurts," he complains.

"Suck it up, Becket," Chuck says. Raleigh zones in on his chip, but Chuck puts it into his mouth and munches hard. He grins cheekily at Raleigh with a mouth full of food.

"You're no fun," says Raleigh, mildly disgusted, but he helps himself to the nachos.

"There is nothing sexy about feeding you nachos, Raleigh," Chuck says, but he lets Raleigh lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth anyway.

 

+

 

They're only fifteen minutes into the next movie, Chuck spooned up tipsily up behind Raleigh's back - he has the head for beer, but heavy reds make him as giggly as a sixteen year old girl - when Chuck slips his hand teasingly underneath the elastic of his boxers. Raleigh grins and rolls over onto his back. Chuck tastes like wine when he kisses him, and Raleigh shoves his hands up under his shirt to pull it off and grope him shamelessly.

Chuck settles against him, all warm skin and freckles, and licks his mouth open. They're soft, sucking kisses, the kind that Chuck loves best but won't admit to, and they lie there like that, kissing like teenagers. Raleigh takes advantage of the opportunity to grab Chuck's ass, and Chuck rolls his hips lazily into Raleigh's. He remembers dimly that Chuck didn't get off earlier, just wrung Raleigh's orgasm out of him and let him lie against him in the hot water, a sloppy, uncoordinated, sleepy mess.

They thrust together, slowly, Chuck tangling his fingers in Raleigh's hair, pulling his head back to get at his neck.

"So this is what you wanted when you wined and dined me," Raleigh says. Chuck's stubble rubs gently against his neck, and he tilts his head further back, foggily turned on.

"Yep, and now you have to put out," Chuck says, biting his chin.

"I'm not that kind of girl," Raleigh says, pouting, but lets Chuck wriggle his boxers off. He has no idea why he put them back on in the first place, anyway. He knows what Chuck Hansen is like with some red wine in him.

"You're exactly that type of girl, don't lie." Chuck shoulders Raleigh's knees apart, hands pressed wide over the jut where his navel angles down to his cock. He nips his inner thigh. Raleigh wriggles his hips teasingly at him, and Chuck glares, pinning him down with his hand. "Stay."

Raleigh grabs onto his hair when Chuck licks a line up his cock. He sighs happily. "Okay, fine, I'm exactly that type of girl."

If Chuck didn't have his mouth around Raleigh's cock, he's pretty sure he'd be smiling.

Chuck gives the best blowjobs Raleigh's ever had (or maybe it's just because he's the first person Raleigh's been with that he likes this much, but Raleigh isn't going to examine that thought too closely). The best is when Raleigh's come once already and isn't desperately on edge, so Chuck can just kind of explore Raleigh's body like territory to be conquered. He licks a line up Raleigh's balls, peppers the insides of his thighs with kisses and licks, jerking Raleigh off slowly.

Raleigh tilts his head to the side to watch him, running his fingers through his hair. Chuck's eyelashes flutter when he swallows him down, his tongue pressed flat and heavy against the under side of Raleigh's cock. He pulls off almost all the way, flicking the tip of his tongue just under the tip of Raleigh's cock. Raleigh can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, his own heavy breathing, and he moans when Chuck pushes down again, so that Raleigh's pushing against the back of his throat.

Chuck sucks him slowly, driving him out of his mind, and Raleigh is dizzy with need when Chuck pulls off with a wet sound and grins at him. His hair is all over the place, no thanks to Raleigh's wandering hands, and he shoves it back roughly with his fingers. Raleigh blinks dimly at him.

"More of that later," Chuck says, getting up onto his knees. 

"What? Why? Come back - fuuuuck," Raleigh groans, as Chuck sinks down onto his cock. Raleigh slides in easily. Chuck's hot and tight inside, his hips flexing as he rocks himself downwards.

Sneaky motherfucker got ready when Raleigh was asleep, and Chuck snorts a laugh when he says as much.

"What did you think I was doing while you were napping?"

"I don't know! Making nachos! God, fuck, do that again," he babbles, clutching helplessly at Chuck's hips.

"You're so innocent, Raleigh Becket. So pure - shit -"

Raleigh has no idea how Chuck his this composed with Raleigh inside him, and he holds Chuck still, thrusts up as much as his sore body can muster, and is rewarded when Chuck lets out a stuttered gasp and bites his lip.

"Jesus Christ, I've corrupted you - nnnnnhh -"

Chuck lets him control the pace for all of half a minute, then pulls one of Raleigh's hands away from his hip and wraps it around his cock. He rocks down hard, and Raleigh's head tips back, lost in the feeling of Chuck spasming around him. Chuck's eyes are dark, mouth open and wet, his forehead creased as he fucks himself on Raleigh's cock.

He's so fucking hot like this, his body a sinuous, rolling line, and Raleigh is so turned on that his skin feels like it's on fire. He strokes Chuck, and rubs a thumb over the head of his cock. He gets a thumb into the crease of his thigh and guides his legs open wider, screwing his hips up to try and get in deeper. He's nearly biting through his lip with how good it feels, the sight of Chuck riding him shattering his senses to pieces.

"God, Chuck," he stammers. Chuck's hands clench on his chest. His breath stutters out unevenly, and Raleigh takes advantage to roll him over into the crease in the middle of the futon.

"Control freak," Chuck complains, wrinkling his nose at him.

"Shhh, concentrating," Raleigh says, and fucks in, deep. Chuck shudders.

"Concentrate harder," he says, his sass belied by the weak flutter of his lashes. "You call that fucking?"

"You're such a pushy bottom," Raleigh says, but he bites his lip, pulls a knee over his elbow and fucks in again.

"Fuck, c'mon, harder," Chuck says, so Raleigh gets his knees under him and drives in hard, setting a punishing rhythm. He hits the bundle of nerves on the sixth or seventh thrust and Chuck devolves into a messy puddle of moans and weak limbs. Raleigh grins in satisfaction, feeling the sweat roll down his forehead.

"Oh, fuck, there," Chuck moans, fingers digging bruises into Raleigh's side. Chuck's writhing on the futon, his fingers clenching and unclenching, pulling out the bedsheets. He looks so gorgeous, strung out and mindless on Raleigh's cock, that Raleigh can't even feel his aching muscles anymore. He sits up and pushes Chuck's knees apart, fucking in again and again, watching himself disappear into Chuck's body, watching Chuck jerk himself off in a stuttering rhythm. His cock is flushed dark, and Raleigh thinks absently that he wants to hold him down by the hips and suck him off. Maybe next time.

Chuck gives a stuttering moan, dark eyes meeting Raleigh's. He's biting his lip, flushed and debauched and gorgeous, and Raleigh falls forward to lick into his mouth. They're too wired, too hyped up to do anything less than kiss sloppily and moan into each other's mouths. Raleigh digs his hands into Chuck's hair and pulls his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, and sucks a bruise into his skin. Chuck's going to have killer hickey's tomorrow, and the thought sends a thrill down Raleigh's spine.

Raleigh's senses zone out to the sound of Chuck's harsh breathing and the squeak of the futon underneath them, the clench of Chuck's ass around him. Chuck's jerking himself off, and Raleigh pounds into him again and again until he moans and comes all over his belly.

"God, look at you," Raleigh says, pulling his head back slightly to admire him. He can feel his orgasm building, tingling in his balls.

Chuck's biting at his bottom lip, green eyes swallowed up by black. His fingers scratch bluntly down Raleigh's chest.

"Come on, Raleigh," he bites out, drawing the first syllable of his name out, his voice gravelly and fucked out. Raleigh tilts forwards, tucking his face into the side of Chuck's neck.

He comes like that, moaning, mouth open against the curve of Chuck's neck and shoulder, Chuck's hands digging bruises into his upper arms. He collapses on top of Chuck, exhausted and sore and sated. Chuck runs his fingers through his hair and kisses his temple, chuckling.

"Time to move, Rals," he says, after Raleigh's breathing has kind of returned to normal.

"Nooo," Raleigh groans. He doesn't even care if they're uncomfortable and he's squishing him. He's not moving. He's exhausted. He's done. He did his job for today. He did it fucking well.

"I know," Chuck says, "But I bet the bed is way more comfortable than this."

"It's cold," he says.

"We can sleep naked and keep each other warm," Chuck murmurs against his temple.

Raleigh considers.

"Go on. I'll turn on the fireplace. We can sleep in tomorrow, I promise."

Turns out Chuck does have some good ideas, sometimes.

 

+

 

Raleigh wakes up the next morning, curled up and warm against Chuck, under a pile of blankets. There's watery sunlight pouring in through the window, and snow is piling up softly against the window frame. He yawns and tries to stretch, except that every muscle in his body protests.

"Hey," Chuck says, and Raleigh squints up at him. Chuck palms his ass shamelessly. "Morning."

"Morning," Raleigh says, wriggling closer.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like a kaiju ate me and spit me out," Raleigh says, dropping his forehead to Chuck's chest.

Chuck laughs. "Wanna go again?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm never getting back on a snowboard again."

"Nah," Chuck says, and rolls over on top of him. "I mean this."

Oh. Yeah. Raleigh can totally get on board with that. "I'm intrigued," he says, kissing Chuck's chin. "Tell me more."

"Well, you did good yesterday, so since you were a good boy, we can do whatever you want."

"Can I have a massage?" Raleigh asks, poking his fingers into Chuck's side.

"I'm lying on top of you naked and all you want is a massage?" Chuck huffs.

Raleigh slides his thigh in between Chuck's and rolls his hips teasingly. "Massages can turn into other things."

Chuck's eyes gleam. "You make a good point, sir."

Neither of them get frozen that day.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an exercise in dialogue. The boys are in Thredbo, because it's more popular with Sydneysiders, but I'm more familiar with Buller, Hotham and Stirling, so apologies for any inaccuracies.
> 
> Title from Speakers by Sam Hunt.


End file.
